Deathwatch
by Mythrae
Summary: A Mackenzie Weyr story. The plague is terrible; dragons and riders are dropping like Thread and Sarine is no closer to a cure. Despite her best efforts, sometimes she can do nothing.


Deathwatch

The first thing H'ton knew about his friend and weyrmate being sick was arriving at T'ladal's weyr and finding the man face down on the stone floor unconscious. With a cry that had brought Muth, H'ton's brown, into the weyr proper, H'ton had scooped up his friend and clambered carefully onto the brown's sturdy back. Cuddling the other man closely, H'ton ordered Muth to the infirmary where he would find Sarine who would cure his friend. She had to cure his friend.

Sarine found T'ladal a bed which she ordered set up in the temporary shelter in the Bowl nearest to where the very ill green Oth was lying but was harried by another patient and H'ton had to wait impatiently for several minutes until Sarine came back to examine the unconscious man.

"It's the plague, H'ton," she told the brown rider who closed his eyes in pain. "It's fairly advanced." She studied the man standing before her. "I'll make him as comfortable as I can, H'ton. You can help."

H'ton had once felt a spark of interest for the pretty Healer, but that had faded quickly. He had been friends with T'ladal even before Muth had flown green Oth and the men had discovered that their friendship ran deeper than most. They had become nearly inseparable and when Muth had consistently flown Oth in all of her mating flights, they had decided to declare themselves weyrmates. Now, however, H'ton was discovering some of the drawbacks of loving someone as much as he loved T'ladal.

Sarine had shown the brown rider how to take care of the green rider and Oth, sick as well, whom T'ladal had been caring for before he himself had been stricken. Water whenever needed, fellis to keep the pains down, wherry broth for Oth three times a day to give the green strength, and a lot of time cleaning up the sweat, vomit and diarrhea that erupted from T'ladal's plague wracked body. Sarine had been grateful for the help, despite the fact that most of the Weyr's drudges had been pressed into service for cleaning.

During one of the quieter moments, when T'ladal had been sleeping, H'ton had seated himself next to the bed and was watching his weyrmate's sleeping face. Amused, he ran a finger over the stubble that had accumulated. T'ladal had always been so conscientious about keeping his face clean shaven! H'ton had just started to get up to find a blade to shave his friend, when T'ladal's eyes flickered open and he moaned.

"Hey, 'Ladal," H'ton said softly, taking his friend's questing hand in his own and squeezing gently. "You awake finally, lazybones?"

"'Ton?" T'ladal's voice was a whisper that H'ton had to lean closer to hear.

"I'm right here," the brown rider replied, his face breaking into a smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," T'ladal replied, wincing. "Oh, no..." His face contorted and H'ton, recognizing that particular expression, grabbed for the bucket and expertly titled T'ladal onto his side. Once the green rider finished being sick, H'ton tenderly wiped his mouth and face clean and eased T'ladal back onto his back. "Sorry," T'ladal whispered.

"No need to apologize," H'ton told his weyrmate. "Although you certainly do make a mess when you feel like it."

T'ladal's lips twisted in what was obviously an attempt at a smile. It was a frequent argument of theirs over the fact that T'ladal was not the neatest person in the world, whereas H'ton liked to keep everything orderly and in its place. It was one of the spices in their relationship.

"You... can clean... it up," T'ladal managed to get out and H'ton laughed quietly, squeezing his friend's hand.

"How's Oth?" T'ladal asked next and H'ton struggled to keep his face from changing expression.

"She's about the same," the brown rider replied carefully. It was not quite the truth. Oth was worse and was nearly dead, but T'ladal was too sick to know that.

"Good," T'ladal replied, then his eyes sought out H'ton's. "She'll get better, won't she?"

"Of course," H'ton lied smoothly. "You'll be flying Thread in no time."

"Protecting the Weyr," T'ladal's voice strengthened a little. He had always been dedicated to his profession. "Oth is the fastest green in our Wing."

"Fastest in the Weyr," H'ton corrected gently. "Oth and Muth make a great team, no Thread escapes them!"

"Yes," T'ladal's word was little more than a sigh, and the green rider was soon asleep again.

Sarine arrived on her rounds and carefully examined T'ladal.

"He's doing better, H'ton," she said, her voice somewhat surprised. "Your presence is really helping him throw this off."

"He needs to get better, Sarine," H'ton's eyes pleaded with her. "I need him."

"I know," Sarine replied softy, putting a comforting hand on H'ton's shoulder. She liked the brown rider but was not sorry that nothing had come of their attraction to each other. Moving on, she stopped to examine the fading green Oth.

Sarine shook her head on the conclusion. Oth was near dead and in her opinion, proven right again and again during this horrible time, she had only hours left in this lifetime. Sarine was upset about it, but she was more upset over T'ladal. Just when the man was doing better, his dragon was doing worse. Still, she thought, with H'ton to help, maybe he would get over the loss of his dragon and go on to lead a life, maybe not as good as the one he had now, but a productive one.

It was all she could hope for, and the Healer went on to the next makeshift shelter and the next patient.

H'ton watched T'ladal sleep for a few more minutes then stretched his back. His friend was getting better and Sarine hadn't said anything about Oth, so the green obviously wasn't doing worse. H'ton thought he just might have time to dash to the Lower Caverns for a snack. He hadn't eaten in several hours, and then only some bread that a drudge had brought around and he was hungry, despite the worry he'd been feeling over his weyrmate.

So H'ton left T'ladal's bedside for the first time since he had brought the green rider in.

Fifteen minutes later, the brown rider was heading back when a shock went through him. A heartbeat later, Muth was keening outside the infirmary and a moment after that, the rest of the dragons in the Weyr were lending their voices to his in an eerie and all too familiar call of the dead.

"No!"

H'ton's face went ashen, he dropped the mug of klah he'd been holding and sprinted for the shelter. Reaching it, he dashed around it to T'ladal's side to find N'varr, the bronze rider helping out, standing over the body of green Oth.

The female dragon, once so lively and flirtatious with Muth, was dead.

Tears streaming down his face, H'ton moved to T'ladal's bedside where Sarine and Ayala were frantically working to stop the convulsions ripping through T'ladal's body. H'ton grabbed for his friend's hand, but Sarine ordered him out of the way in her effort to stop the man from following his dragon into death. The convulsions finally quieted, and T'ladal lay still, but Sarine still worked.

"What's wrong?" H'ton asked anxiously, creeping forward again. This time, Sarine let him take T'ladal's limp hand as she turned to the brown rider.

"He's given up," she whispered, her voice full of horror and despair. She had seen this too often in the past months. "He's not fighting anymore and he's sinking fast." She put a hand to her mouth. "I can't help him if he doesn't help himself!"

Ayala was trying to get a drought of some kind into T'ladal's mouth but the green rider was twisting his head and refusing the drink.

"'Ladal, don't fight her!" H'ton pleaded with his weyrmate. "Let her help you!" His grasp on the man's hand tightened convulsively. "Don't leave me!"

T'ladal still twisted his head, but his eyes flew open and fastened unerringly on H'ton's. The brown rider was shocked to see the emptiness within and the lack of understanding. And in a flash, H'ton knew that T'ladal would never be the same even if he survived.

"Don't," he waved at Ayala who looked questioningly at Sarine. The Healer nodded and the apprentice put the cup down, and moved to another patient. There were always more patients, no matter how many got well or died. In a moment, Sarine, too, left, unable to help and unwilling to watch the end she had seen too many times before.

"T'ladal, my friend, my weyrmate," H'ton began, the tears streaming down his cheeks and both of his hands holding tight to both of T'ladal's. "I know you want to follow Oth, I know you don't want to live without her, but I need you to stay with me. Muth needs you too, you know that." H'ton swallowed the large lump in his throat. "You can't die, 'Ladal, you can't. I love you too much to lose you."

T'ladal's hand tightened on H'ton's but it was a jerk, so H'ton never knew if it was a deliberate acknowledgement or a convulsion, but a moment after it had happened, T'ladal stopped breathing and slipped into the depths of death.

H'ton screamed, startling the drudges, then threw his body over T'ladal's, trying desperately to bring his weyrmate back with techniques all the dragonriders learned. But basic first aid was no match for death. Indeed, nothing the most accomplished Healer could do would bring back the green rider known as T'ladal.

Sarine hurried over, but one look at T'ladal's grey face and half open eyes told her everything. Tenderly, she closed his eyes and laid a steady hand on H'ton's back.

"H'ton," she called softly, trying to break through the brown rider's storm of tears and moaning. "H'ton. Stand up, we need to take T'ladal and Oth now." It wasn't cruelness that drove Sarine to take care of the bodies of the man and dragon, it was the heat. The dead were a risk to the living and she needed to move fast in order to keep the living from becoming the dead.

"What?" H'ton looked up, his face blotched red and streaked. "No!" He pushed away Sarine's hand and glared at the approaching men who had converged on the shelters when the dragons had keened. The funeral drill was an established procedure now. "I'll take them!"

N'varr waved the men back subtly and everyone moved aside for H'ton to lift T'ladal's limp body in his arms. A moment later, Muth approached. H'ton went to Muth's side and hesitated. N'varr, understanding, gave the man a knee up.

"Muth can't lift Oth," Sarine said in an undertone to N'varr when it became obvious what H'ton was ordering his dragon to do.

"The queens will take her up, but Muth will take her between," N'varr replied, seeing the two golden dragons appraoching.

The Weyr gathered, those that could be spared from other duties for this, and in the forefront were Adreath and Cailleath, ready to bear the dead dragon to her final resting place. Lynnia and Gwyn, seeing Muth and H'ton's burden, understood the change in the usual funeral plan. Weyrleader M'ark stepped forwards and, looking at the green and her rider, spoke clearly.

"We have lost today one of our dragons and her rider. Not in Threadfall, but in a more deadly fight that we are ill equipped to win alone. Oth was a fast green, the pride of her Wing and of this Weyr, T'ladal a good man, dedicated to fighting Thread and dedicated to the Weyr. We will miss them both."

He stepped back a pace and D'lan, T'ladal's Wing Leader, stepped forward carrying a shroud. It was Weyr coloured and had a border of green, the Wing colour. Many of these had been made and stored in event they would ever be needed. Too many had been used. He handed it up to H'ton who carefully wrapped his weyrmate in it. Stepping back, D'lan signalled to his Wing.

The Green Wing sprang aloft, in battle formation and hovered, waiting to escort their wingmates to their final resting places.

H'ton took a tighter grip on T'ladal's body and fastened his riding straps with one hand. He was too well trained to forget even under these circumstances. On the ground, A'star, Creth's rider and senior Wingsecond now that P'tho was dead, fastened riding straps around Oth's nearly rigid body. Once she was done and had joined the rest of the Wing in the air, Muth took off.

Adreath leapt into the air, riderless, and Cailleath, the larger of the two golds, easily grasped the green's body and took off as well. The Weyr watched as the Green Wing followed the Muth and the two golds upwards, then as all the dragons hovered. Adreath flew directly under Oth's body and Cailleath released the green to land on Adreath's broad back. Muth took Cailleath's place and with all four feet, grabbed the green from her golden perch. Adreath flew out from underneath and Muth carried the weight alone. Unmindful of his own safety, H'ton unhooked his riding straps and, leaning over, transferred T'ladal's wrapped body to Oth's neck, now held straight by Muth's grasp of the green's back with his hind legs. Then, the brown transferred between, the rest of the dragons remaining in position in the late afternoon sun.

In the blackness of between, Muth let go.

"I love you, T'ladal," H'ton called out, not hearing his own words but somehow knowing that they followed T'ladal and Oth into the nothingness. "I will never forget you."

They winked back into the sunlight, in the same position they had left. Muth keened again, the other dragons silent in respect, and then the funeral party descended back to the Weyr where life, such as it was, went on.


End file.
